


Sleeping in a Coffin

by I May Age Regress (shnuffeluv)



Series: Gibbs' Family [63]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Age Play, Anesthesia, Case Fic, Claustrophobia, Drugs, Gen, Halloween, Non-Sexual Age Play, Panic, Undercover Missions, coffins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 17:03:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12586560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/pseuds/I%20May%20Age%20Regress
Summary: McGee is sent undercover for a case, and Timmy gets locked in a coffin.Happy Halloween!





	Sleeping in a Coffin

"'It's for a case, McGee, just be quiet and get it over with,'" McGee mocked in a fake Tony-voice as he walked down the darkly lit corridor. "Yeah, right. Tony could have done this job just as easily, and he wouldn't have to worry about slipping up undercover, either. I can't believe I have to sleep in a coffin... _again_."

McGee went over his cover again in his head, just to cement it in place. He was Harper McGregor, a wanted man for selling government secrets, and he was looking for the fastest way out of here and to Mexico as he could find, which led him to the Ursi brothers' business. Specifically, their smuggling capabilities, shipping people around the world in coffins, including a highly dangerous Petty Officer who decided to skim some government secrets that he could find off the top of his workload and into his pocket for a pretty paycheck. McGee didn't quite know what being shipped alive in a coffin entailed, but he certainly wasn't looking forward to finding out.

Reaching the end of the corridor, he blinked in the sudden light of a funeral home, because with as many windows as it had, natural light was flooding the place. It took him a second to realize that there were two men in the room, watching him. "Mister McGregor, I presume," the one wearing a nice suit purred.

"Yes...you know why I'm here, I'm assuming?" McGee asked, making sure to measure his breathing, keep his nerves at bay.

The one wearing work clothes smiled in such a predatory way McGee was sure he couldn't hide all of his alarm. "Hop in, my dear. We'll take care of the rest."

McGee swallowed and nodded. They had wired money to an account to these two, but the account the found in and of itself wasn't quite enough to connect them to anything except having shady friends who definitely were generous when it came to gifts. This was the moment of truth. He walked up to the coffin and climbed into it, feeling the padding beneath him and praying he didn't have a panic attack when they closed the lid.

"Feel nice?" the man in work clothes asked.

"No worse than economy class on a plane," McGee tried to shrug off. "Slightly claustrophobic, slightly uncomfortable, but the destination makes it worth it."

"Well, you will be sleeping most of the trip," the man in the suit shrugged off. "Kennith, get the Propofol."

"Wait, what?" McGee asked, sitting up in the coffin.

"Relax, Mister McGregor, this just makes it easier for you to get through customs. Don't want you bumping into the walls at the wrong time," the man in the suit soothed.

The man in work clothes, Kennith, held McGee down in the coffin and put a mask over his mouth and nose, turning a nozzle to turn on a stream of the gas. "Just breathe, my dear. It'll all be over in a minute."

McGee was starting to panic. This was not the plan, _this was not the plan_! He couldn't even contact the others without giving himself away, because he was relying on a phone and an emergency button. He tried to get out from under where he was pinned, but Kennith just shushed him and murmured, "Breathe, darling. Breathe."

With the way McGee was starting to hyperventilate, it was a small wonder his vision felt like it was going sideways and black around the edges. The black covered more and more of his vision, and he started to wonder why he was panicking in the first place. He was just so _tired_ , he could rest his eyes a bit while the other two prepped him for moving, couldn't he? He'd have to stay still a while anyway. McGee closed his eyes, and let himself fall into dreamless, drugged sleep.

* * *

Timmy woke with a jolt in the dark. Where was he? What time was it? And where was Papa?

He fumbled in his pocket for his phone and flipped it on. He sighed when he saw he had a signal. A weak one, but it was there. If he still couldn't figure out where he was in a minute, he'd be able to call Papa. First, though, before he called, he _should_ know where he was. He heard the rumble of an engine, muffled from wherever he was. It was pitch black save for the light from his phone, but it didn't feel like night to Timmy. So he was in something? It felt soft...and then the last few moments of when he was conscious came back to him, and he began to panic. He was still in the coffin, on a case, with bad guys! Papa would be mad if he called and he was little on a case, wouldn't he? Sure, sometimes he felt little in the office, or got stressed at a crime scene, but here he was alone and was supposed to catch the bad guys in the act!

He pressed against the lid of the coffin to try and get it to open. It wouldn't budge. So, to make a correction to his previous statement of being in a coffin, he was _locked_  in a coffin, _trapped_. Not good, not good, not good! There had to be some air holes or something for him to still be alive and breathing comfortably, but really, that was small comfort considering where he was and what he was supposed to be doing.

There was a bump and Timmy dropped his phone, and he felt around frantically for it. He needed to call Papa, mad or not. He couldn't stay in a coffin like this! He found the phone and pressed a button to wake it up, before going to number two on speed dial. Thankfully, Papa picked up on the first ring. "McGee, what's wrong?"

Timmy's words got caught in his throat. Papa was going to be _so mad_  when he realized what was going on. "Papa, I'm...I'm stuck," he whispered.

The silence on Papa's end made Timmy's heart pound so hard he heard it in his ears. "Okay, Timmy, take a deep breath for me, can you do that? Explain what happened as best you can."

Timmy still felt a little hazy from the drugs in his system, but dutifully explained. "I got to the place, and they let me in the coffin that I was gonna use, except they didn't want me awake so they gave me something that made me sleep. An' I just woke up, an' I don't think I can age up right now, Papa, and I'm locked in the coffin and I couldn't get out even if I could stop the bad guys and--"

"Hey, woah, kiddo, take a breath," Papa instructed. "It's gonna be okay. Whatever they gave you didn't knock you out for long, they haven't even reached our checkpoint yet. When they do, we'll stop them, and find you, and get you out of there, okay? You already did what you needed to do, your job is done. Now you just have to stay quiet until we get there, okay?"

Timmy took in a deep breath, before letting it out slowly. "I can do that, Papa. Just please, please hurry. It's dark and scary."

"I'll be there as fast as I can, kiddo. Just rest until then, try to relax."

"Mm-hm..." Timmy hummed, ending the call. He tried to do what Papa told him, just breathing in, and out...

That didn't work very well, though. It was dark and while that normally would have been scary, Timmy almost liked it because he could forget that if he moved in any direction he would be met with a padded wall he couldn't get through. But then he'd try to shift into a more comfortable position, and he'd be trapped by walls on all sides.

He hummed to himself an awful lot. Just little pieces of whatever came to his head, never a whole consistent song, usually only a chorus. That helped him focus on something, closing his eyes and humming and pretending he was at home, safe in Papa's arms, and he was showing Papa how good a singer he could be, if only he could find a tune that he could put to his words when lyrics came to mind.

When humming got boring and didn't help anymore, he thought about Tony, both big and little. He thought about building towers with Tony as tall as they could make them, and racing cars, and playing checkers, and him teaching Tony how to play with the RV, even though he knew Tony knew how already. He thought about all the fun times at the office, the lunches out together and the joking between friends and the annoying yet endearing Mc-Nicknames DiNozzo came up with.

But it took a while still before Timmy heard any noise outside, and then it was just thumping noises along with the engine. It sounded like whatever he was in might be breaking down. Fear clutched at Timmy's heart and he could feel himself about to cry. No, no, no, he couldn't be trapped in here for longer! They needed to get to the checkpoint so Papa and Tony and Ziva could find him and rescue him and take him back home! His breathing picked up again and he started to cry. He turned on his phone again and saw that half an hour had gone by from his phone call with Papa, and he decided to text him. _Can u c them yet? Plees say yes_

The reply he got back was not what he wanted. _Hey, bud, Tony here. Boss-man says we don't know what we're looking for so it's taking a bit, but we'll be with you as soon as we can_.Then, a minute later, _Keep breathing_.

Timmy whined and closed his phone, closing his eyes. He almost wished he could have slept longer, anything would be better than being locked in a coffin.

Sleep was staking a claim at Timmy again (at least he thought it was sleep--he could have been hyperventilating again) when he heard a large ratting noise and all of a sudden there was a crack of light in the coffin. Someone outside was shouting something indignant that sounded like, "You can't do that!" but Timmy couldn't be sure.

Feeling for where his gun was on instinct, Timmy belatedly realized he didn't have his badge or gun on him, just his cell phone. If this wasn't Papa and the others, he was going to be in big trouble.

There were footsteps climbing up on something, and Timmy could feel them in his back. So he was either on a flatbed...or maybe inside some sort of moving van? "Boss, there's a lot of coffins in here!" DiNozzo called.

Timmy's eyes widened. It was them. " _Tony_!" he yelled. " _Tony, I'm here_!"

There were more footsteps getting closer and closer, and Timmy just kept shouting Tony's name over and over. There was a sharp rapping on the outside of the coffin which caused Timmy to shriek in surprise. "Woah, hey!" DiNozzo exclaimed. "It's okay, we're getting you out of there, Ziva, can you pick the lock?"

There were more footsteps and then Timmy could hear the gentle clicks of metal on metal, before the large _clunk_  of a lock being undone, and the top was thrown off the coffin.

Timmy winced in the sudden light when he sat up fully, gasping for breath. "I thought I was gonna die in there," he whimpered.

"You're out now, though, kid, ready for this to be over? We've got both brothers in custody," DiNozzo said.

Timmy attempted to climb out of the coffin and nearly fell flat on his face. DiNozzo laughed. "What happened, kid? Usually you don't need sea legs in a truck."

"Shut up, Tony," Ziva growled, helping Timmy to his feet. "Gibbs said he was drugged, remember?"

"Oh," DiNozzo said, looking between Timmy and the coffin. "Okay, yeah, nevermind. Coupled with the panic that makes sense. And it's not like I can talk, I got myself locked in a freezer before."

"Really?" Timmy asked with a grin.

"At the risk of being mocked, yes, really," DiNozzo said, picking Timmy up bridal style and carrying him out of the truck. "It was a case before you were on the team, before _Kate_  was on the team. There was a really nice girl, named Viv--sweet, but a little too hung up on revenge to do the job when it got personal...hi, boss!"

"DiNozzo, what are you doing?" Papa asked in the way that told him he didn't want to know _what_  DiNozzo was doing, but rather _why_  he was doing it.

"Probie's having a little problem finding his sea legs," DiNozzo said. "Probably whatever they drugged him with combined with his general panicking."

" _You_  get locked in a coffin for an hour and we'll see how well _you_  can walk at the end of it!" Timmy challenged, not trying to get down despite his indignance.

"Hey, hey, hey," Papa warned. "Not nice, I need both of you to behave. DiNozzo, give the kid shotgun on the way back, extra space might help keep him calm. After he's in the car take care of those two idiots who thought it was a good idea to lock still living people in coffins."

"On it," DiNozzo said.

Timmy twisted his head around until he saw the two brothers, who were both staring at him. He hid his face in DiNozzo's neck. "They're staring at me," he whispered.

"Most criminals do that when they get caught," DiNozzo assured. "I wouldn't worry about it."

"Yeah, but they do it angrily, not in shock. D'you think they heard us?"

"So what if they did? No one will believe them," DiNozzo brushed off.

That didn't really alleviate any anxiety Timmy was feeling on the matter, but he wanted to believe DiNozzo, so he pushed the anxiety out of his mind as best he could. When he was safely in the car Papa had been using at the checkpoint he sighed and looked around. That experience had been terrifying, and he was just glad it was over. The others owed him big time for this.

Oh, yeah. They owed him _big time_. Maybe he'd be allowed to collab with Tony on this year's Halloween costume plans...


End file.
